Tuesday, 3 February 2009

Z reminds herself to be humble

We're all so English, that most of us wrote about the weather yesterday. Today, here, it was fresh and cold and sunny, which was delightful. It was frosty this morning, and I fell heavily (not that I'm heavy, you understand) on Al and Dilly's path. The Sage, who was looking after the children, rushed out with Pugsley, wrapped in a blanket, in his arms. He hauled me up; my left hip hurt which makes a change and I have five cuts on my hand but no grazes and I brushed it off.

I realised, last night, that I had cocked up and missed a deadline and wrote to apologise and I've been reprieved. How kind. I will confess to those who were nearly affected, of course, because being humble helps others as well as oneself, although one would prefer not to have to be. Dammit. No really, I need God because who else would keep forgiving me? People, of course, because they're endlessly kind, but my stupidity goes beyond that.

Ho. Well.

There was a mean letter in the village magazine which has hurt me. I know who has written it; there is no name to it and that is not the editor's policy, but I understand the pressure which has been brought to bear. I'll have to write an answer and it must be inoffensive and not hurt (ing or ful). I will give it a day or two, I have a fortnight in hand and must consult others. Hasty letters are not good. Hasty emails should never be sent. If your fingers seem inspired to heights of rudery, print, save, reread the next day and then decide what to send. It probably won't be the angrily written email that seemed so inspired the night before.

Sorry, you won't have a clue what I'm writing about. Several things. Chocolate calls, I think. It won't be answered, for I am strong-minded. Dammit. Fortunately, I don't even try to resist alcohol. Thank the lord for alcohol.

Darling Fweng, please let me assure you that I'm nothing like Dawn Thinks-she's-funny/can-act French (half the size, blonde, not self-satisfied, doesn't want to die in Devon, etc). I'm not chosen, therefore have to prove myself constantly. You are welcome to mock.

Who, Dawn French? Well, she has been funny, but don't you think she's not quite as funny as she thinks she is? You never actually forget she's Dawn French *being funny*.

Julie, life dealt her a hard blow a few years ago when her lovely husband died suddenly. She has never got over her bitterness, though no one was at fault (except, she says, God - no matter what other dreadful things happen in the world she can accept any of them but not the one that affected her), and sometimes can't help hitting out. I am so sorry for her and won't be offended, but I wish she'd come to me in person and not written an angry letter, which the editor should not have published without a name anyway.

Right, just one off-topic thing re: the chosen people nonsense. 1) I'm athiest anyway, but,2) My lot were the first (ok, we nicked the idea from the Zoastrians) to bow down and pray to One Special Geezer when everyone else continued to bond with fire and trees and suchlike, hence 'chosen', something that now sounds rather arrogant once Christians and Muslims joined the gig.

The Day Job

The Place to Go

Delightful people with a little too much time on their hands

Copyright

Oh, what's the problem? This is hardly Great Literature. I'd appreciate anything taken from here being acknowledged, and I might change my mind if I'm suddenly proclaimed as the Literary Queen of the Blogosphere - but I probably wouldn't. Do what you like, just as long as it doesn't extend to defamation of anyone, even me.

Actually, you want to pass off what I say as your own, I might even be flattered. Let's face it, who cares anyway?